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little_pieces_of_timeOn a picnic table near the bar, there is something like a funeral, something like a dissection, taking place.
Max had partially dismantled her camera in her painstaking search for a way to fix it, before she had discovered it had been irreparably damaged when Nathan had shoved her to the pavement.
She has since taken it the rest of the way apart, or as much as she can without more specialized tools, and has laid out the pieces on a white kitchen dishcloth. At the top is the bent and chipped facing of the camera's flash, its tiny lightbulb an exclamation point above it. The individual pieces of the camera's yellow plastic shell - some dented and scraped - surround the neatly arranged collection of lenses and inner workings. The bottom of the array includes the mechanism and motor which had previously spat out so many photos for her. At the very heart of the array are the pieces of the inner lens which had broken upon impact with the parking lot, sparkling in the spring sunshine.
On some level, Max knows she is being silly, but it seemed so wrong to just throw her broken camera away. It had been with her through so much. It was the first sign of her parents' support for their kid's weird hobby. The least she can do is remember it with one more photo, even if the photo is documenting the damage that caused its... well, 'demise' is the wrong word, but it's the only one that had come to her mind.
The blue and white newer-model Polaroid camera flashes and whirs as Max takes the last photo of a tool that was so much more to her than the sum of its parts.
Max had partially dismantled her camera in her painstaking search for a way to fix it, before she had discovered it had been irreparably damaged when Nathan had shoved her to the pavement.
She has since taken it the rest of the way apart, or as much as she can without more specialized tools, and has laid out the pieces on a white kitchen dishcloth. At the top is the bent and chipped facing of the camera's flash, its tiny lightbulb an exclamation point above it. The individual pieces of the camera's yellow plastic shell - some dented and scraped - surround the neatly arranged collection of lenses and inner workings. The bottom of the array includes the mechanism and motor which had previously spat out so many photos for her. At the very heart of the array are the pieces of the inner lens which had broken upon impact with the parking lot, sparkling in the spring sunshine.
On some level, Max knows she is being silly, but it seemed so wrong to just throw her broken camera away. It had been with her through so much. It was the first sign of her parents' support for their kid's weird hobby. The least she can do is remember it with one more photo, even if the photo is documenting the damage that caused its... well, 'demise' is the wrong word, but it's the only one that had come to her mind.
The blue and white newer-model Polaroid camera flashes and whirs as Max takes the last photo of a tool that was so much more to her than the sum of its parts.
